


Lay Your Weary Head to Rest

by The_Selective_Participater



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Headaches & Migraines, Hell yeah Tony watches SpongeBob, Hurt Tony, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Summaries, Insomnia, Poptarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Avengers, who doesn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 12:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Selective_Participater/pseuds/The_Selective_Participater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony's always had the habit of sleeping in strange places.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thor & Phil

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing but my feels.

“Thor wouldn’t you at least like to remove your armor before-“

“Nay, Son of Coul, I shall disrobe and rest once my need of the Midgardian delicacy has been met. Brother Stark has assured me that there are troves of Pop tarts in the Storage Facility and I shall endeavor to find it.”

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose before giving in and helping the Norse god with his search.

“How is this my life?” he muttered underneath his breath. The room they were currently in was on the small side, a sharp contrast to the other cavernous rooms of Stark Tower. The lights were dimmed and the faint glow of Mjölnir illuminating the many boxes stacked along the walls and ground.

“Son of Coul?”

“Phil.”

“Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“Is it customary for Midgardians to slumber in such unusual places?”

“What are you talking about?” He replied while trying to see over Thor’s massive shoulders.

Thor stepped aside revealing a sleeping tony curled up between, ironically enough, two stacks of S’mores Pop tarts. The genius’s eyes were tightly screwed shut hands tangled in his hair on each side as if he were in pain. Even in sleep his breaths came out in quick harsh bursts and every now and then a small whimper would escape his lips and his hands tightened, pulling harshly at his hair.

“No, Thor it is _not_ customary.”

He lifted his head towards the ceiling, even though he knew J.A.R.V.I.S. wasn’t necessarily in the ceiling it had become a habit amongst the Avengers, even to Tony himself.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., can you tell me what’s wrong with Tony?”

_Certainly Sir. During the battle Master Tony began to suffer the symptoms of a migraine. Upon his arrival he immediately sought the refuge of the nearest dark and quiet place. He has sustained no other injury to my knowledge, Master Tony has medication for said migraines in his workshop, and might I recommend their retrieval as soon as possible. Before the nausea begins, it is most inconvenient to clean up afterwards._

_So this isn’t a one time occurrence._

“Thank you J.A.R.V.I.S.”

_Of course._

“Son of…Phil, what illness has befallen our comrade? Does he require a healer?”

“No. He just needs medication and rest-“ He paused when Thor removed his cloak and stooping down wrapped the silky red material around Tony. He then lifted the sleeping man in his arms as if he weighed nothing and turned towards Phil who remained silent throughout the ordeal.

“What about your Pop tarts?”

“The delectable tart pastries must wait. We must tend to our Shield brother at once.”

Phil allowed the tiniest smile to pass his features. Maybe it was because of Thor’s sudden shift in priorities or because after a quick snap with his phone he had acquired the ultimate blackmail material. He looked down at the picture of Tony tucked into Thor’s arms and swaddled in his cloak.

Both. It was definitely both.


	2. Bruce

Sleep wasn’t exactly one of Bruce’s closest friends; in fact it wasn’t even an acquaintance. More of a long distance cousin that you saw once a year at the family Christmas party. It was probably why the fact that he was in the kitchen, brewing tea, at three in the morning wasn’t in any way abnormal to him. Not that the tea helped, it just gave his hands something to do besides twisting nervously.

He left the Passionflower herbs to steep in the boiling water before sitting at the table where he and the others would often eat together, joke around, and share interesting and mundane details about their day. Bruce smiled at that. If anyone told him that he’d be living in a multibillion dollar tower with a super-soldier, an assassin, a spy, Iron Man, and a Norse god he would have referred them to a top notch mental facility. But here they were and somehow they’ve grown into a little tight knit…family.

Not that he didn’t think about leaving. Running, going into hiding was second nature to him. But he’d think about leaving them behind and the empty feeling it caused left him uneasy, and surprisingly scared.

It was-

Wait, what the hell?

His foot once again came into contact with something solid and…warm. Scooting his chair backwards he craned his neck to see underneath the table and there was Tony. He was curled up on his side, one hand tucked underneath him in an awkward angle the other outstretched, fingers twitching at random. Oddly, the genius was dressed in one of his fancy suits. Well not that odd now that he thought about it, there was some gala or event Tony was supposed to be attending that night. But that didn’t explain why he was sprawled on the ground fast asleep.  
Now that he thought about it, he’d never actually seen Tony sleep. He was sure that the man _did_ sleep at some point but in all the time that he’d known him he’s never seen him actually _sleeping_. And Bruce thought _he_ had sleep issues.

Shifting to his knees he gently shook Tony who groaned and shifted away from the touch, his twitching fingers continued their random pattern.

“Modulate field of expansion...” Bruce smiled at the mumbled gibberish. He stood to retrieve a blanket from his room and returned to cover the man he considered his closest friend with it. After pouring the steaming tea into a cup he returned to his spot next to the sleeping Tony’s head and quietly sipped him tea. On a whim he reached out a hand to thread through the already disheveled dark hair.

“Those are my pancakes, SpongeBob, get y’own…”

Note to self, snorting hot tea out of one’s nose is not fun.


	3. Steve

 

“Tony?” Steve called into the seemingly empty lab, balancing a tray in one hand and a glass in another. Tony was making the effort to come more often to the team breakfasts so his absence that morning was noticed. But the man often got so engrossed in his work that he genuinely didn’t notice time zipping past him and on these days, one of the team would make the journey to his lab and drag him, if need be, out into the world of the living. Because Tony made an appearance at last night’s movie night he decided to just bring him breakfast instead of tearing him away from his…work.

Steve genuinely didn’t think he’d get used to Tony’s lab, like ever. He turned his head every which way taking in the sights of the suits lining the wall and countless gadgets and gizmos littered all along different counter tops and even the ground. There were things he vaguely recognized but the majority he couldn’t even begin to guess what they were.  
He startled nearly dropping the glass in his hand when a beeping chirp sounded right next him. Reaching out he put the glass and tray on a nearby counter top before stooping to pet Dum-E’s claw. The little robot whirred appreciatively before rolling around his legs and tugging at his shirt.

“What is it Dum-E?”

The robot twirled its claw before once again pulling at his shirt.

_Master Rogers, I believe Dum-E is worried about Tony-_

“What!?” Steve shouted his head snapping towards the disembodied voice.

_There is no need for alarm, he is quite alright. Merely sleeping. Dum-E is just anxious because he is not able to reach Sir._

Sleeping? That was not a word he usually associated with the hyperactive and always-moving genius. The only time he’s ever seen the man still was after he fell from the portal and the Hulk caught him. After he removed the face plate to reveal the pale, bruised face underneath he couldn’t help but notice how _still_ Tony was. _So very still._

He shivered at the thought, unconsciously clenching his fists.

“Where exactly is Tony, J.A.R.V.I.S.?”

_I believe Sir was working on one of his vehicles before you arrived._

Dummy chirped and pulled at his shirt once again, this time he let the little robot lead him past cars that he knew that he couldn’t afford in fifty lifetimes and they stopped before a vehicle he recalled Tony calling a bagetti? Wait no, that wasn’t right bug- something. Baguette? No that’s some type of French bread. Bugatti. That’s it.

He looked at the car Dum-E led him to and saw no signs of the engineer. On instinct he cupped his around his eyes and peered into the car and promptly frowned. Tony lay sprawled across the back seat, legs tucked in and head bent at an awkward angle.

“That can’t be comfortable.” He muttered and Dum-E chirped in agreement. Making a split second decision he opened the car door and slowly and carefully eased the sleeping man out, careful not to jostle him or wake him.  
He makes his way over to the couch, Dum-E following closely behind, before he gently deposits the sleeping billionaire against the cushions. Tony kicks out, a foot catching Steve right in the shin before he turns and falls still.

“Geez.” Steve mutters rubbing at his sore leg. Tony was much stronger than he looked.

Dum-E whirs beside him, a blanket clutched in its claw which he drapes over the sleeping man. Straightening out again he glanced at the tray of untouched food and full glass then back at the slumbering genius.

“Well, at least he’s finally resting.” Steve said out loud.

_Certainly Sir._

Dum-E chirped in agreement.


	4. Natasha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is pretty short. But Natasha 'to me' feels like someone who gets to the point.

Ok. That happened.

She nearly _killed_ Tony.

Killed as in the literal sense.

Like gone-from-this-Earth-dead.

But in her defense, she was an assassin, a lethal assassin at that. And why the hell was he there in the first place. She crouched next to the sleeping figure that was currently slumped against the wall and less then an inch away a knife was embedded into the wall.

Yes, she was the one who threw it.

Yes, her intent was to kill.

But no she had no intention of killing Tony. Never that.

She didn’t know when she became so…protective of the man; it was something she really didn’t want to look at too closely. But she couldn’t deny that she enjoyed his company and found his dry humor and quick wit amusing. That was something that she would _never_ admit. Not even to Clint.

She stared at his sleeping face, taking note of the disheveled hair and grease smudge on his cheek. He must have been working on something, but when was he not.

Natasha came into the training room to release some stress in the form of beating the crap out of a punching bad when an unexpected sound had her spinning around and launching a weapon before she could even register what she was doing. Turns out the sound that she heard was Tony’s nonsensical sleep mumbling.

She hesitated a moment before threading her fingers through his deceptively soft dark hair.

“You idiot. I almost killed you.” The assassin whispered.

Tony stirred, canting his head towards her touch before mumbling something almost incoherently but she caught a word spoken with affection.

“...Tasha.”

“Shh милая, sleep.” She said softly before leaning against the wall besides him.

Someone needed to look after the idiot.


	5. Clint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is even shorter. I have no excuse.

Oh. Em. Jesus.

If this wasn’t the most freaking adorable thing that he’d ever seen.

Honestly this is just-awwww.

Clint shifted where he was crouched in an air vent, peering down at the sleeping figure in front of him. Never in his life did he think that he’d be thinking this but Tony Stark was absolutely and completely adorable. Tony was curled up with both hands wound tightly around a wrench, his lips were slightly parted and every now and then his fingers would flex around the wrench. His usually styled hair was sticking out in random directions just making him look even more like a giant five year old. In sleep Tony’s face was completely slack, he looked almost _angelic_.

Clint snorted. Psh yeah right.

What was he doing up here anyways? The only other person that ever came up here was Tash, and even then it was when he was in one of his ‘moods’ and stayed up in the vents for too long. But to be honest he really didn’t give a rat’s ass because this opportunity was too good to pass up. He thought the team gushed when they saw Phil’s pic of Tony cradled in Thor’s cape, they were going to lose their shit when they saw this.

He snapped a couple pics, ok realistically about a hundred and at different angles, and slipped his phone into his back pocket.

“…not my toupee…”

“Awwwwwww.”

And if Clint melted into a puddle of sappiness, he would deny it with his last breath.


	6. Tony & The Team

It’s been 73 hours 54 minutes and 13 seconds since it happened. Since the latest villain managed to set off a device that shut down his suit instantaneously _and_ paralyzed him. 73 hours 54 minutes and 13 seconds since that same villain ripped off his chest plate and started to remove the arc reactor right from his chest. All while he watched frozen unable to move, unable to think, unable to _breath_.

_When I ordered the hit on you, I worried that I was killing the golden goose. But, you see, it was just fate that you survived. You had one last golden egg to give._

He’ll never forget. He will never forget the fact that Obadiah looked into his eyes as he ripped the life out of his chest. Looked into his eyes and smiled. The same smile when he welcomed Tony back after Afghanistan, after _the cave_. It was with that same glint in his eyes, that same tight-lipped grin that he ripped the arc reactor from his chest.

_Oh, it's beautiful. Tony, this is your Ninth Symphony. What a masterpiece. Look at that. This is your legacy._   
_A new generation of weapons with this at its heart._

Heart.

His heart that was being shredded by the shrapnel, _his shrapnel._

That was 73 hours 54 minutes and 13 seconds ago. He hadn’t slept since. Not to say he didn’t try. He did. It really didn’t work out.

And he thought the whole waking up shaking, and unable to _just freaking breathe_ , was bad but now he had the whole memory of searing pain in his chest and the helplessness.

Ok. No. Thinking about it was not a good idea. He could feel his heart, shrapnel included, begin to beat faster and he realized his breath was coming out in short gasps. His hands trembled and he balled them into fists.  
You’re ok you’re ok you’re ok.

He looked around the room where his team were all sleeping. _When did that happen?_

Bruce and Thor were sprawled across the couch in a tangle of limbs. At some point Steve cleared a counter of its equipment and was awkwardly curled up and snoring quietly on top of it. Clint was sitting on his right, his head in his arms yet facing Tony. Natasha was perched on his left in the same position and he startled when he felt a touch at his wrist. He looked down and was met with Natasha’s surprisingly soft expression.

He returned her gaze for a few seconds, letting his breath even out to a regular rhythm. He was ok. He wasn’t alone. He was surrounded by family. His family.

“Sleep.” She whispered.

And for the first time in 73 hours 54 minutes and 13 seconds he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's all folks. Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
